"Oh, I'll look around by myself," said his father quickly. "You go to bed—you look all done up," scanning his son's face anxiously.
"Indeed, you will not go alone," said Jasper, rousing himself with shame. "We'll have a good day together."
"Indeed we will not," retorted the old gentleman.
"I shall have a cab and go by myself. You'll go to bed, or I'll call in the doctor. Goodness me, Jasper, you don't look like the same boy that started out in business six months ago; you're all worn out."
Jasper said nothing, only redoubled his efforts on the breakfast before him that now assumed colossal proportions, and as if it could never be eaten in the world, hoping to persuade his father into allowing him to go on the tour of inspection. But it was no use. Mr. King on finishing his morning repast, stalked out to the office, and ordered a carriage, and presently departed, with last injunctions to Jasper, "to lie down and take things easy."
As his father closed the door, Jasper sank into a chair by the table and allowed his head to drop into his hands; but only for a minute, then he sprang to his feet, and paced the floor rapidly.
"If Polly is only happy," he said to himself over and over. How long he walked thus he never knew—it was only by hearing a vigorous knock on the door that he stopped, and called, "Come in."
"They told me," said Jack Loughead, answering the knock, "at the
Marlowes,' that I should find you here, unless you had left the town.
Are you sick?" he asked with concern.
"No; sit down, do, Loughead," said Jasper, dragging forward a chair, and falling into one himself, just beginning to be conscious of a stiff pair of legs.
Jack Loughead set his hat on the table, and himself in the chair that Jasper proffered. Then he fell to tapping the tip of his shining boot with his walking stick.